


In A Silver Lining

by itslxipark



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Feelings Realization, I Don't Even Know, Implications, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of explicit stuff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pairing May Change, Rating May Change, Short, Warnings May Change, Will be adding tags as I go, and i can't summary, it's shitty, or tags, slightly explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslxipark/pseuds/itslxipark
Summary: You have had nightmares before. They're common. Everyone has had nightmares before. Your dreams were normally nightmares, especially ever since the Big News Adler broke.Every once in a while, there is a silver lining in your dreams, right?Only problem is; you can't tell if it's a blessing or a nightmare in disguise.
Relationships: Russell Adler/Bell, Russell Adler/Female Bell, Russell Adler/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I labelled my google docs for this draft as Tittillate Addle Tiddle Tittle— kinda wanted to add that as the title pfT—
> 
> I may or may not continue this, though now it leans to "yes I want to continue this because I want to fuck around with the idea of Bell suffering". And fuck Adler that bastard, I just want to bully him as much as possible but part of me Fears his Threatening and Intimidating air  
> but yes! do enjoy!
> 
> p.s. this is my time attempting second person, do forgive any awkwardness. and excuse my tense for I might change it soon  
> p.p.s so far I've set the reader as gender neutral because I'm not too sure of which direction to take this, but enjoy nonetheless, it doesn't affect anything.

_“Bell.”_

_  
_ It’s not your name; and you know it. But by gods, you love the way it drips from his lips.

You shudder at the way he traces that scarred pair of lips up the curve of your neck. Slightly chapped, yet smooth and just begging to be kissed. He’s teasing; he’s being unfair and he relishes on this knowledge, evident from his small smirk against your skin.

Each inch his lips caress ignites something dwelling deep within you, skin burning away from each gentle and soft trail.

His soft groan jolts you out of your little distraction, almost a small plea for attention as he pulls your body closer. His hands are resting on your waist, but they’re yearning for more exploration, rubbing imaginary circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. As if asking for permission. He leaves a gentle kiss on your cheek (you can feel the warmth of his skin—intimately— and you should be absolutely alarmed at this contact but the need for more is rendering your foggy brain useless) and draws away a few inches. You can see his eyes flickering down to your lips; you do the same, have the sudden urge to just crash your lips against his and end this _maddening_ tease—

You draw closer, eyes closing. You can feel his warm breath against your lips, as he closes the gap between you two. 

A soft gasp is drawn from you when his lips finally meets yours, but it's drowned by the intoxicating kiss. The same way he's drowning _you_ in. It draws you closer into his embrace, the smell of nicotine—intoxicating like him and his kisses—and powder fills your senses. The way his lips gently tug at your lower lip, the way the hand on your nape keeps you in place as you two fall into a downward spiral in your own addictions for this contact. His kisses get hungrier, demanding more contact of your lips, of your touch to savour. Your hand rise to his cheek amidst this, brushing your thumb against his scars, against his imperfections. You thought you heard a gentle sigh from him, you thought you felt that slightly lean into the cup of your palm.

"Fuck, Bell, _fuck_ —"

Oh his voice.

He's like nicotine; once you get a taste of him, you can't pull away. You simply can't. His free hand slowly shifts up your shirt, fingers stopping every few moments of brush against the scars on your torso, palm warm against your cool skin.

You can't pull away from his warm, warm embrace, from his touch as his hand almost slides your shirt up your torso—

Your body jolts up from the comforts of the mattress. Breathing slightly heavy. A momentary panic washes over when your eyes glance around the dark room and your hand touches the source of dull ache on your right forearm.

You glance at your side. At the empty chair next to you. _His_ chair, Adler's chair; as evident from the familiar leather jacket and the packet of cigarettes next to the worn out zippo you'd given him before. The soft beeping of the machines on your bedside slowly replace the roaring of blood in your ears, as you continue to try adjust to the sudden change of surrounding compared to the _warm, wondrous_ —

Fuck. What was _that?_


	2. Langley incidents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much indulgence on cliché enemies-to-lover plots xP + (i hope) successful tension between the two  
> excuse any language or grammatical errors-

"Okay so," Jane muttered, readjusting her grip around her files she clutched so dearly to her chest. Almost having a chokehold on the poor khaki folder. "Let's run through the plan again."  
  


Plan?  
  


Oh.  
  


Your blank stare dissipated upon realizing what on Earth she was talking about. The said plans which you two discussed in midst a drunken haze over a bottle of wine or two. Something about her buying that cheap convenience store wine and coming over, rambling away about how she overheard that a certain someone was stopping by Langley, something about it being once in a blue moon.  
  
  
It left with you a terrible hangover the next day and horrible recollection of the night.   
  


You had forgotten about it. It startled you to realise your dear friend was serious about it.  
  


"Is it really that necessary?" You tried your hardest to hide your wince. Like some teenage child putting up a fuss over their parent's words. With each step you took, neat clicks of your heels slowly begun to fill your ears and you automatically tuned out of the surrounding chatter. A terrible habit you formed upon joining the CIA— ever since you got ahold of a proper Walkman for yourself, it was harder to tune into minute conversations around you. Surrounding chatter slowly became overwhelming. Jane seemed to think it was some side effect from trauma of your past, though you doubted that.  
  


Her gaze, when you turned to face her, was sharp. Just like a parent with that scolding glare.  
  


"You aren't serious."  
  


As much as Jane Wilson was seemingly a naïve, sweet blonde of Langley, it was hard to forget her vivacious nature and meticulous methods of retrieving intel. As an intelligence analyst within the CIA, you first came to knew of her while assigned to crack an encrypted dossier, and was taken aback by her sharp and keen eyes for even the most minute detail. It was times like these that put you in awe of your newfound friend. And something told you, you were going to be in the receiving end of her 'resourcefulness' if you weren't careful.  
  


Her words didn't really do much to ease the sudden rush of discomfort and urge to squirm at the thought of the mentioned plan.  
  


"Jane, it's a bad idea," you murmured as you stopped her by the arm, stopping you two from entering the main lobby of the HQ, standing at the edge of the wings. You ignored the glare of indignation and slight pout of disappointment she had on her face. "There's a reason why I'm not working with him anymore—"  
  


She scoffed, "You don't work with him because Hudson wanted to keep an eye on you after all the reveal, it's not because you two have some complicated love history."  
  


You drew in a breath at that. Technically you didn't. But history was a complicated knot.  
  


She seemed to realise your hesitation, for her gaze softened. Gently pushing your hand down and patting your arm as if to comfort, albeit it felt like she was cajoling you. "It's to help you. And besides he doesn't even come by Langley often; he's always somewhere else. This is the only chance we have, Bell."  
  


Bell.  
  


Jane was the one of the few people whom you allowed to call you Bell, and the only person (so far) who could call you by your former alias even in casual contexts. The only other person amongst the people you frequent with was Hudson, but you two had history, and he was a superior. You couldn't quite argue with him, unless you wanted a bullet through your head. Mason and Woods...you weren't sure. You didn't even know where they were. Somewhere across the world you imagined.  
  


And then there was the matter of him.  
  


In frankness, you weren't sure. It was too long since you've even seen him.   
  


You did suppose he knew your true name.  
  


"C'mon, let's go."  
  


Her voice jolted you back from your thoughts, any lingering memories reeling back into your minds. Hidden in the shadows of the present yet still lingering about like a ghost.  
  


Just like him.  
  


Before you're given time to calm your nearly frayed nerves, Jane pulled you along by the sleeve, hand only dropping when you two were amongst the crowd in the lobby. Your sigh trembled as you tried to calm the blood roaring in your ears, as well as your heart which seemed to beat against the tight confines of your ribcage. Your hands clenched tightly, as if clenching it eased the agitation which slowly crept up your body.  
  


It was just a simple task of walking to the wing at the other end of the lobby. One you have done numerous times in the past few months. You two had made it halfway through, you just needed to get to the end; it wasn't far—  
  


Yet your composure and the will to get your feet lifted and moving seemed to break down the moment you caught scent of the faint trace of cigarette smoke and cologne. You tried to swallow away the rising anxiety, which now clawed at your throat—stifling, too stifling—, but your throat constricted tightly in a lock. Details that were absolutely fresh in your mind. From your peripherals you could see a figure you were all too familiar with, striding forward amidst the groups of people littered across the lobby. You didn't need any prompting to know who it was.  
  


After all, how could anyone forget a man like him? He haunted your nightmares.  
  


"Officer Adler." Jane's voice rammed through your train of thoughts. It's of a calling tone; one that sought attention and focus. Your eyes hardly focused on your front, though you could vaguely tell that he was walking over. The leather jacket was vetoed and instead a formal office-shirt-and-vest was opted for this trip to the office.  
  
  
 _ ~~That didn't quite help.~~_   
  


She talked about some folders. Folders, dossiers, it all slipped you mind as your eyes darted to him as he stepped into your field of vision, so easily towering over your shorter form.  
  


He didn't quite seem to notice you there at first, not when he got the dossier from her hands with a small note of thanks. But you could tell by the momentary pause in his actions that his eyes were on you, albeit you did not return the courtesy initially.  
  


He stiffened slightly, you could tell. Your nails dug into your palm, resisting a rising urge to grimace or flinch away. A cool and neutral expression fell upon your facial features, masking the unease pulsing through your veins. The only giveaway was the light tremor your hands seemed to betray.  
  


"Bell."  
  


It was a greeting. Yet it sounded no different from the commands he used to give. With an edge of hesitation, which sparked a momentary flicker of pride in you.  
  


"Sir." You returned the greeting, inwardly wincing at the use of honorifics. _Old habits died hard._  
  
  
Your eyes finally glanced up to face him, but the aviators helped mask any emotions which might have settled behind his eyes. Cold and relentless, just as you remembered. Seconds ticked by. There was no HQ or other CIA officers walking back and forth; your world narrowed down to you two and you two only. You defiantly standing before him, like an obstacle, as you had done months ago at safehouse E9 in Berlin. The only difference now was the harsh tension that had rushed between you two, replacing the once smug (near-flirty almost) air to something akin hostility and defense, though you could not tell who exuded more hostility between you two. There was unspoken, unresolved conflict between you two; and your pride wasn't quite ready to end this, not by far. You kept the proximity, not stepping back to free up some space; feeling as if to do so would be a white-flag instead of what should be an evenly matched game.  
  
  
"Adler!" A voice called out from behind. The thick, invisible wall between you two faltered as his eye contact wavered. A shadow of a grimace graced his features, as he turned back to the owner of the voice momentarily. "C'mon, we gotta go before Hudson gets all pissy again..."  
  
  
His attention flickered back to you, hesitation and waver no longer present and instead replaced with the cool, steely air of stoicism.  
  
  
"Nice seeing you, Bell." In that tone of calm and calloused you knew all too well.  
  
  
You watched, as he walked off into the left wing. Somewhat aware that Jane was urging you along to the right.  
  
  
Bell.  
  
  
At least you had your answer now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rather short chapter; thinking of picking up the pace soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Do leave a kudo ;3; it boosts my feeble, fickle mortal ego  
> And comment any feedback you'd like to share :D i don't bite (maybe)


End file.
